Mr. Josh Heckett, the invalid, was in bed when the doctor entered; that is, he was lying partially dressed, with a dirty counterpane flung over him and the pillows propped up under his head. The said head was covered with surgical bandages, and a considerable portion of the face below was ‘discoloured and bruised. That Mr. Heckett was in pain was evident, for every time he moved—and he was very restless—he drew liberally from that well of Saxon, impure and defiled, which is so largely patronized by the free-born Englishman who wishes to add force to his conversation. He was a strange-looking invalid, with his burly limbs and giant strength lying prostrate, like a lightning-stricken oak, and he was surrounded by strange companions. Round the walls, wherever a nail could be driven, hung cages full of all sorts and conditions of birds, from the parrot to the lark. Lying about on the floor, in various attitudes of repose, were two toy terriers, a fox-hound, and a fierce and exceptionally ugly bull-dog. A pretty King Charles spaniel, with a litter of puppies, occupied an empty box in one of the corners, and scattered about the room in picturesque confusion were rabbits in hutches, squirrels in revolving cages, guinea-pigs, and white mice, and a few other animals, who had rolled themselves up so completely into a ball for their noonday siesta, that it was quite impossible to say what they were until they condescended to disentangle their heads from their tails. The central figure of the group, however, was a splendid mastiff dog. He lay at the foot of Heckett’s bed, a perfect picture of unstudied grace. His leonine head was slightly on one side, as though listening for a footstep, and his paws were crossed in front of him. His sleek fawn coat shone like velvet, and spoke of some one’s constant care and attention. There was something of contempt for the other inhabitants of the room in the dog’s look at times. When the other dogs barked, he would glare towards them with a lazy, sneering expression, as much as to say, ‘Poor idiots! what are you frightened about?’ But suddenly he became agitated himself, and sprang from the floor. He uttered a deep growl, and crouched in an attitude of attack, There was a footstep on the stairs. The door opened, and Dr Birnie walked in. At sight of him the dog dropped his tail, and, growling, slunk back into the corner of the room, with his eyes steadily fixed on the doctor, half in dislike, half in fear. ‘Why don’t you teach that brute not to growl at me, Heckett?’ said Dr. Birnie, seizing a rabbit-hutch by the bedside, and sitting on it, much to the terror of the occupant. ‘It’s his natur,’ the man answered. ‘He don’t like you; he’s a very good judge, is Lion—he knows my pals in a minute.’ ‘I suppose you mean he knows your friends from your enemies?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Then he ought not to growl at me. I’m one of your friends.’ ‘You’re friendly as long as it suits yer purpose, that’s all.’